The Cats Pajamas
Chapter 21"You ever been to Manchester's house?" Gil asked Jeff as he drove.
"Nope. Don't even know where it is."
"Santa Monica. He's got it up for sale."
Jeff nodded. "Of course he does, if he's moving to Florida."
"How's the office been getting along without you?"
"Suzanne is probably running the place by now," Jeff deadpanned.
There was no more conversation as the two men, along with the black-and-white unit, made their way towards Santa Monica. It didn't take long to get there and find their destination. Once there, the cars parked at the end of the block and Gil sent his officers around the back of the house. Before approaching the door he turned to Jeff. "Impressive, isn't it?"
"For a criminal," was Jeff's response.
Up the block and across the lawn they went, until they reached the porch. Gilmore pounded on the front door. "Manchester, it's the LAPD. I have a warrant for your arrest. Open up." There was no response. The lieutenant tried the door and found it locked. Jeff found the side of the house and located a window slightly ajar. He forced it open without making noise of any consequence and discovered himself in the library. It was pitch black inside and he had to wait a minute for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Once he could see again he made his way carefully through the rest of the house to the front door. In just a moment it was unlocked and open enough for Gil to get in. They hadn't taken two steps when the hallway lights were suddenly switched on, temporarily blinding both men. Two shots rang out, one bullet went wide and the second caught Jeff in the left bicep. "Stay down," Gil told him.
Gilmore aimed and took two shots, hitting Manchester in the right hand. The gun dropped to the floor and the Lieutenant demanded, "Don't move." His officers came around from the back of the house and cuffed Glen as Gil turned back to Jeff. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, it doesn't feel serious." As Manchester was led past the wounded man, Spencer asked him, "Still feel like a genius now?"
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Stu had been speeding for quite a while, in a hurry to get back to Southern California. South through Gualala, Bodega Bay, San Francisco, Daly City and Santa Cruz he went, and he didn't notice the police car following him. Not until he heard the siren, that is. "Damn," he swore under his breath as he pulled over to the shoulder. By the time the policeman reached the Chevy, Stu already had his license and registration out. "Do you know how fast you were going, Mr. Spencer?"
"Sorry, officer. I was on vacation when I got a phone call telling me my father's in the hospital. I guess I wasn't paying close enough attention."
The officer nodded and walked back to his car. Stu sat and waited, hoping to get back on the road with just a speeding ticket. It was almost ten minutes before he looked in his side mirror and saw the cop advancing on the Chevy, gun drawn. "Put your hands on the steering wheel, Bailey, and don't move them." Stuart wasn't about to do anything foolish; he knew when he'd been caught. The policeman pulled the driver's door open and told him, "Don't make any funny moves. Alright, step out of the car and put your hands in the air."
Stu did as he was told, and waited for the officer's next instruction. "Hands on the car. Move your feet back and spread your legs." The pat-down came next, and he knew what was going to follow. He heard the clink of metal and felt the handcuff on his right wrist. "Hands behind your back." Quickly his left hand was manacled. "In the backseat of my car." Again he obeyed. Just what he'd feared. He knew he should have stayed in Northern California, but he wanted Jeff away from Manchester as fast as possible. "It's gonna be a long ride, Bailey. Don't try anything – I can haul a dead body as well as a live one."
They drove to the California Highway Patrol station in Monterey, where Stu was uncuffed and allowed to empty his pockets. "Do I get a phone call?" he asked, and the Desk Sergeant glared at him.
"It depends on who you want to call," was the answer.
"My office. At least it used to be my office. In Hollywood."
"I suppose. Here," and the Desk Sergeant turned the phone around so Stu could use it. An officer sat across the room from him with his gun drawn and pointed at the fugitive. Stuart assumed if he twitched the wrong way he would catch a bullet, and he dialed the phone carefully.
"Bailey and Spencer," came the familiar voice.
"Suzanne, it's Stu. Is Jeff back at the office yet?"
"Oh, Stuart, are you alright? Where are you?" Suzanne cried.
"I'm at the Highway Patrol in Monterey. Is he there?"
He could imagine her shaking her head. "No. We haven't seen him in over three weeks. Give me the number there and I'll tell Gil where you are. He can send someone to pick you up."
"Rosalind 5-7869. And tell him I'll be sitting in a cell waiting for him." As soon as he hung up the phone he was grabbed by the arm and thrown into a cell. Stu sat down on the bench provided and hung his head. He wondered if he was ever going to get out of the mess he was in. All he could do now was hope Jeff was alright, and Suzanne could find Gil.
At that very moment Jeff was sitting in Gil's office while a doctor tended to the arm he'd been shot in. He'd waited until Manchester's hand was treated, sitting quietly while all manner of officers scurried about. Some he knew, some he didn't know. By the time the doctor arrived his arm had almost stopped bleeding. He felt a little better once he'd been bandaged, and when the doctor was gone he turned to Gil. "I'm ready if you are," he told the Lieutenant.
Just as the two men stood up, Gil's phone rang. "Gilmore," and he listened for a minute before letting a smile slip. "Yes, Suzanne, he's right here. Hold on," and he handed the phone to Jeff.
"Suzanne, honey, I'm alright. He did? He is? Where? How is he? Hang on, let me give the phone back to Gil." Jeff returned the receiver to Lieutenant Gilmore. "Stu's in a cell in Monterey. Suzanne has the information."
"Suzanne, this is Gilmore. Where in Monterey is he? And the number? How is he? I'll call them as soon as I can. Thanks." Gil hung up the phone and turned to Jeff. "Wait a minute; I want to call The Highway Patrol in Monterey." He dialed the number Suzanne had given him. "Yes, this is Lieutenant Gilmore in North Hollywood. I understand you have a prisoner of mine. Stuart Bailey. That's right, first-degree murder. Warrant 186-457. I need you to transport him to the precinct down here. As soon as possible, yes. Yes, I understand. He won't give you any trouble. However you have to. Alright, thank you."
"Well?" Jeff asked.
"They're going to bring him down."
"In handcuffs, Gil?" Spencer already knew the answer, even though he didn't want to. Poor Stu; he hated handcuffs. But at least he'd be on his way home.
"Let's go, Jeff. I've still got a job to do with Glen Manchester, and I need your help to do it. Let's make sure we can send Stu home when he gets here, instead of putting him in another cell."
The two men headed out of the office and down to the Interrogation Room, to convince the man in custody that the confession he'd recorded on tape was enough to convict him. The Lieutenant walked in first and sat down at the table across from Manchester. Jeff quickly followed, sitting to Gilmore's right. There was no love lost in the look the crime lord directed at Gil, but the glare he fixed upon Jeff was positively deadly. "Who are you, really?" he demanded of Jeff.
"Haven't you figured that out yet?" Spencer shot back at him. "Remember the man you framed for murder? I'm his partner."
Manchester groaned. "I should have known you were too good to be true. Another private dick, right?"
Jeff shot him a wicked grin. "That's right, another private dick. Jeff Spencer, at your service."
"Whatta you want?" Glen demanded of Gilmore.
"I want to make sure we've charged you properly. Let's see, racketeering, bookmaking, numbers running, kidnapping and first-degree murder."
"First-degree murder? What are you trying to pin on me? Who'd I kill?"
"Detective Jamie Akin, Claude Bell, and Georgie Weston," Gil enumerated.
"Prove it," Manchester all but sneered.
Gil pushed the 'play' button on the tape recorder sitting next to him, and Manchester's voice rang out loud and clear. "Well, there was one . . . that Aiken kid. But Bell took care of him for me."
"What happened to Bell?"
"I had Weston put three bullets in him. And the best part was, we framed that damned private eye, Bailey. Georgie shot Claude with Bailey's gun and Bailey ran. The cops are still lookin' for him. Genius, that was sheer genius."
"I didn't say anything about Georgie Weston," Manchester whined.
"That's true, you didn't. But I'm sure the lab will be able to match your gun with the bullets we took out of Weston. And now we can clear Bailey. Would you like to explain all this to the DA?"
"Go to hell," Manchester snickered.
The door swung open, revealing the very man they'd just been discussing. "I've no doubt that's where you're headed, Mr. Manchester. And thank you for the confessions."
Two officers entered and, one on either side of him, hauled Glen Manchester off to await arraignment and, eventually, trial. The DA looked down at Jeff, still sitting next to Gil. "Good work, Mr. Spencer. I'm sure Lieutenant Gilmore could use you on the force."
"No, thank you," Jeff replied. "I'm more than happy being a private investigator. Speaking of which, could you please revoke the arrest warrant on my partner?"
"Most certainly. Lieutenant Gilmore, if you know where Mr. Bailey is, you can bring him home. If not, please issue an all-points-bulletin rescinding the warrant, effective immediately."
Gil smiled broadly. "With pleasure. And thank you for not pushing for a quick resolution to finding Bailey."
"Getting the right man is more important than getting the most likely suspect. And I do believe that, Lieutenant," the DA stated.
When they were alone once again, Gil stood up first. "Come on, Jeff, let's go get that all-points-bulletin issued, and get Stu uncuffed."
To Be Continued